


Late Night Crisis

by arthureverest



Category: The Tick (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, sorry ahead of time, this is NOT pwp there's a plot i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 04:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12124245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthureverest/pseuds/arthureverest
Summary: Arthur gets a call from Overkill in the middle of the night. The night doesn't go quite as either of them expected.





	Late Night Crisis

Arthur was hesitant to respond to a call from Overkill, especially this late at night. He'd given him his number because… well, it seemed like a good reason at the time. To keep in contact about the case. Something. 

What if it's an emergency? What else would he be calling him at 2:00 a.m. for, it was for-sure an emergency. He was hurt? He had to be.

He grabbed his jacket and answered with a brief, “Hey, where are you? Ok. On my way.” 

He hadn't been able to get to sleep anyway.

Arthur stepped onto Dangerboat in a hurry, assuming there was something urgent going on.   
“Hey.” Overkill said as the door closed. He seemed particularly unbothered, robotic eyes uncovered and bright. “I was just thinkin, 'maybe I should call the smart little moth’ and figured 'why not?’”

“What?” Arthur asked, trying to process the difference between his expectation and with what he was met. 

“Yeah, I was like, ‘maybe he'd want to fuck’. Seemed worth it.”

“Maybe I'd what?” 

“Dangerboat thought it'd be a good idea.” 

“What is going on? I thought you were hurt, I thought–” 

Overkill stepped closer. “You were worried about me? Sweet of you.” 

Arthur felt metallic hands touch his sides through his shirt, strong but gentle. 

“I know you're intimidated by me. It's hot.” Overkill whispered into Arthur's ear, closer now. 

“I…” Arthur started. 

“You can say no if you want to. No consequences if you do.” 

Arthur paused, put his hand up, and stepped back to think it over. 

He thought about all the times he'd thought about Overkill. Brief thoughts, sparks of something or other, he'd chalked it up to loneliness. He'd thought it'd be a little more romantic than this, though. He’d imagined some sort of confession after the mission was triumphantly completed. He didn't like the thought of being anyone's booty call, let alone someone who had, mere days ago, been hunting him down. 

Isolation had been getting to him, though. Oh, loneliness. The thought of even just a kiss at this touch-starved moment was nearly overwhelming. Maybe that’d be good for him. 

And he thought about how worried he was at the thought of Overkill being hurt. How on the way over he'd imagined a whole scenario where he was bandaging his torso and brushed his hand against his abs, trying to play it off as something other than tactile lust, and Overkill leaned up and hesitated, asking gently if he could– Actually, he was pretty sure he wanted this. 

Arthur nodded. “Yeah.” he said, stepping back forward. 

Overkill put his lips to Arthur's neck and kissed him gently, over and over. “Yeah,” Arthur repeated, much softer, more for himself than the man clearly distracted by unbuttoning his shirt. 

They ambled, still distracted, over to the table in the middle of the room. Overkill stopped at Arthur's bottom shirt button and moved back up to his shoulders. Particularly beautiful, to him, were his elegant little shoulders. Arthur wasn't the masc-ass men he usually fucked around with. He thought it was great, the dips and curves of a thin fem. Something different. 

“You've got feminine hips.” Overkill said without thinking. He wasn't doing a lot of thinking at the moment. 

Arthur blushed and fidgeted. “D-Do you want me to leave?” he asked, unsure if he should be offended. 

“It's a compliment. I'm saying you're sexy.”

“O-oh.” Oh. He'd never been called that before? His previous encounters had all been. Awkward. 

“Oh!” he repeated, as suddenly his pants were unzipped and Overkill's mouth was where mere moments ago there was underwear. 

Sensory-wise, it was a lot. He was sensitive enough with his hands, his face, he hadn't had someone on his dick since… well, for years. It'd been a lot at once and hadn't taken long for Overkill to get the reaction he wanted. 

Arthur continued being surprised, a minute or so later he was turned around over the table. He adjusted his hand placement. 

Overkill was more prepared, which made sense all things considered. He pulled lube out of his pocket and asked again. “Hey, asshole. Can I fuck your asshole?” 

Arthur hesitated. The entire experience had already been more than he'd gotten for years. He turned around and kissed him, moving from his scruffy cheek to his lips that still stung with salt. 

“Forgive me, first for calling it this and second for the sentiment, but i think penetration might be a bit much for me tonight.” Arthur admitted, “but I'll gladly return the initial favor.” 

“Fair enough.” Overkill whispered, somehow managing to make it sound sexy. Maybe Arthur was just a little biased from the whole situation. 

He dropped to his knees and took up Overkill's dick in his mouth. He felt his prosthetic hands in his hair, not knowing if he was getting as much or more information as he would feeling Overkill's hair with the hands he was born with. 

“Your mouth is good.” he heard, mouth too full to respond with something mood-ruiningly witty like 'thanks, I grew it myself’. 

He was admittedly thinking much too much when he pieced it together. He was thinking about how he was sucking off someone he admired in such a way, he debated whether it was too middle school to call him a crush, and for some reason, probably the hour, he had a mild flashback to some words that cut through his heart. 

'Don't shoot the little one, just crush his hands.’

Shit. Fuck. Hands. Eyes. 

“Oh, SHIT!” Arthur shouted as soon as the dick was out of his mouth. “You're fuckin…”

Overkill didn't like the sudden change of tone. “I'm not fucking anyone other than the obvious.” He attempted to calm Arthur down. 

“You're, him, how did you? How'd you escape? I thought–” Arthur struggled to catch his breath.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa what's going on?”

“You're. You were? On the Flag Five?”

Overkill paused. “I mean, yeah. I don't talk about it, obviously. I thought you were smart about this shit.” 

“Smart about– I guess I assumed your paranoid ass would care about something easily googleable about me before you invited me over for a pityfuck.” 

“Ok, listen there was no pity in– wait, what's googleable?”

Arthur hesitated again, this time in uncertainty if what was happening was happening. He said softly, matter-of-factly, “I'm the fucking frozen yogurt kid.” 

“The what?” 

“I was there.” Arthur said, raising his voice slightly. 

“You were…” 

“I was there.” he repeated. 

“I…” Overkill started but trailed off. 

“Yeah.”

Arthur felt some surreal heat where his chest met his throat. Was he really so distracted by everything not to piece this together sooner?

“Can I sit down?” Arthur asked. “I feel like I'm gonna syncope.”

Overkill didn't know he just meant faint, but gestured to his cot anyway. 

“How did neither of us know this?” 

“I don't know.” 

“Fuck.” 

“I… gotta go.” Arthur said. 

He stepped off the boat quickly, leaving Overkill to ruminate on what he'd just learned. 

Arthur was jittery the whole way home. When he got back to his bed he sighed as deeply as he could. 

He'd worry about this tomorrow. For now, it was time to sleep.


End file.
